Heart of the Rockies Collection

by Kathleen Morgan

  “Those are their ceremonial clothes,” Josie offered. “Usually the men wear trade cloth shirts with their leggings, and the women’s dresses can be a combination of trade cloth and buckskin. When it’s really cold, they add buffalo robes and fur hats or robes made from gray wolf or coyote or badger fur.”

  “But not today,” Shiloh added with a smile.

  “No, not today. Their buckskin clothes are pretty warm, and it’s not that cold.”

  Josie paused to survey the Utes inside the corral. “Oh, good,” she said at last. “There’s Persune. He’s a member of Chief Douglas’s band.” Her mouth tilted upward in a smile. “He’s married, but he keeps asking me to be his wife. He says he loves me.”

  Shiloh looked over at her. “And are you going to accept his offer?”

  Her companion giggled. “No. Though I like and respect the Utes, I’m not interested in permanently living like one. When Papa’s time here is over, I’d like to travel and maybe find some sort of government work in our nation’s capital. I don’t want to be tied down to any man. Leastwise, not for a long while to come.”

  “Me, neither,” Shiloh replied with a resolute nod. “Not for a long while to come.”

  Josie grabbed her arm and began to pull her forward. “Let’s go stand with Persune and his friends. The Bear Dance is about to start.”

  As they wound their way through the Utes who were beginning to take their seats around the outer edges of the corral—the men sitting on the north side, the women on the south—others moved forward to form the two lines facing each other in the center. Several older Ute men sitting beneath a brush shelter on the western end of the corral began to sing and scrape a short piece of wood down a long, notched stick. The sound was harsh and rasping.

  Shiloh knew the notched stick, in the Ute language, was called a morats and was supposed to imitate a growling bear. The morats was a special ceremonial tool only used for the Bear Dance.

  As they neared the spot where Persune stood talking with two other Ute men, one of the men, much taller than his compatriots, turned slightly in their direction. For a moment, he seemed not to take much notice of their approach. Then he abruptly stopped and blatantly stared at them. Or, rather, stared at Shiloh.

  An expression of disbelief then shock, as his gaze traveled from her hair to her face to finally rest at her throat, swept over his face. Shiloh felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She had expected some unwelcome gaping at her red hair, but this Indian’s response bordered on outright rudeness. Her eyes narrowed in irritation and, unconsciously, her hand rose to the base of her neck. As her fingers brushed the cross and eagle hanging there, a sudden realization shot through her.

  She looked back up at the tall Ute, whose own eyes at that moment lifted to lock gazes with hers. Eyes that were the most intense, rich shade of brown she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d recognize anywhere, even after all these years.

  Shiloh’s throat went dry. Her heart began a wild hammering in her chest. And, with the greatest difficulty, she forced a name to her lips that she hadn’t uttered in almost nine years.

  “Jesse,” Shiloh whispered. “Jesse . . .”

  2

  Jesse . . .

  He saw her utter his name. Jesse . . . A name he hadn’t used since the day he’d ridden into the camp of his mother’s family and asked Captain Jack for a new name, a better name—a Ute name. And, since he had arrived on the cusp of a powerful windstorm, that had been his name ever since.

  Nuaru. Wind.

  As he gazed into Shiloh Wainwright’s soft, beautiful green eyes, however, Nuaru knew the past had come rushing back to confront him. Once again, whether he wished it or not, he’d be torn between two different worlds. Torn between Jesse Blackwater, the white side of him, and Nuaru, the Ute.

  The admission didn’t sit well with him. Anger stirred then flared into a blazing conflagration. Suddenly, he couldn’t remain there, breathing the same air as the young woman who, by her mere presence, evoked such painful memories.

  “I must go,” he said, leaning over to whisper in Persune’s ear. “I feel ill.”

  His friend turned, a look of incredulity on his dark bronze face. “But it isn’t permitted. Besides, you’ll disappoint far too many maidens who hope to choose you for the dance. And that, my friend, is not a wise move.”

  “I’m well aware of that, but it can’t be helped. I need—”

  “Persune!” a feminine voice called out.

  Nuaru winced. Too late. Now he couldn’t get away without appearing impolite.

  With a sigh of resignation, he turned along with Persune to greet the two women hurrying up to them. Josephine Meeker he already knew, though he tried to give the outgoing young woman as wide a berth as he did her father and the rest of the Agency employees. And, truth be told, he knew Shiloh as well, indeed better. Or at least he had nine years ago, when she was but a girl of twelve.

  However, she wasn’t a girl anymore but instead a radiant young woman. True, her long red hair seemed almost as unruly as it had when he had last known her, but the color had deepened to a pleasing shade of auburn. The freckles she had loudly and frequently bemoaned had faded and were but a faint, charming sprinkle across her nose. Her sparkling eyes were a gold-and-brown-flecked green, her skin was pale but perfect, and her lips . . .

  With an abrupt shake of his head, Nuaru wrenched his thoughts back to the moment at hand. It didn’t matter what kind of woman Shiloh Wainwright had grown into. She was part of another life. A life he had permanently and gladly turned his back on.

  “Oh, I’m so glad I found you!” Josie said just then, glancing at Persune. “This is my new friend, Shiloh Wainwright. My father hired her because she’s a trained teacher and sure to accomplish far greater things with the children than I ever have.”

  Persune looked to Shiloh. His hand moved to a lock of her hair that had fallen onto her shoulder. He fingered it curiously before letting it go.

  “Very red . . . like a mountain sunset. Pretty.”

  Shiloh smiled. “Thank you.”

  At his friend’s action and Shiloh’s response, Nuaru felt a surprising stab of jealousy overlaid with a fierce protectiveness. She was just innocent enough to imagine that, even with that hair and pale skin of hers, she wouldn’t be a lure to nearly every Indian brave within a hundred miles of here.

  “You’re Nuaru, aren’t you?” Josie next asked, turning to him.

  He nodded. “That’s my Ute name, yes.”

  She took Shiloh’s hand. “Well, this is Shiloh Wain—”

  “I know who she is.”

  He supposed he could’ve phrased it more kindly, but for some reason he dreaded what Shiloh would next say. That she’d reveal his white name and set all sorts of questions into motion that he didn’t want unleashed yet again. There wasn’t much he could do, though, to stop her.

  Josie glanced from him to Shiloh. “Oh?”

  “He’s an old friend,” Shiloh said. “He used to work for my stepfather on our ranch.” She extended her hand to him. “It’s so good to see you again, Jesse.”

  Nuaru stared down at her proffered hand for a long moment, then took it and gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it. “Edmund’s a fool to have let you come here. This is no place for you.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Well, to catch you up on things, my stepfather died last year. And, for another, I’m a grown woman now and don’t have to account to any man for what I choose to do.”

  “So, you’re not married?” Somehow, that revelation both irritated and pleased him.

  “No.”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “That shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose. You always were a headstrong, independent sort.”

  Shiloh’s chin lifted a notch. “And what about you? If memory serves me, you were always pretty headstrong and independent yourself. Ever find a woman good enough for you?”

  “My woman died three years ago of the smallpox. Seems the Agency got hold of some infected blankets, and un
knowingly passed them on to a few unlucky Utes. Onawa was one of them.”

  “Oh no.” She flushed. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. I shouldn’t have said that the way I did. Please forgive me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over and done with.” Once again, he turned to Persune. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here.”

  His friend’s brow furrowed, and Nuaru knew he was trying to sort through the conversation—both verbal and nonverbal—that had just transpired between Shiloh and him. He needed to cut that line of thought short, or risk some embarrassing questions.

  “It was nice to make your acquaintance again, Miss Meeker,” he said with a slight nod. “And you too, Shiloh.”

  As he turned to go, however, Shiloh grabbed his arm. “Wait, Jesse. We’ve just met each other again. And there’s so much I want to know about you and your life since . . . since that day you left. When can we meet again and talk?”

  He hardened his heart to her sweet entreaty and even sweeter expression. No good was served dragging this out between them. She needed to leave here before things exploded, and they were surely going to do that sooner rather than later. Agent Meeker was oblivious to what was going on around him. All it would take was just the right inflammatory incident and he’d have a full Indian uprising on his hands. And both the half-Ute Nuaru and half-white Jesse Blackwater didn’t want to see Shiloh caught in the middle of it all.

  She had been his friend once—his only true friend—and he would never forget how she’d stood up to the foreman that day. How she’d shielded him with her own body, and still bore the faint scar on her cheek of the whiplash she’d taken for him. No, for what she’d done for him that day in the guise of friendship, he would try his best to send her back to where she’d come from. Before it was too late. Before he would be forced to turn his back on her and stand with his people against her and her kind.

  “I don’t have the time or interest in renewing old acquaintances,” Nuaru ground out. “That life is over. And with it went our friendship.”

  He spun around and stalked away, the harsh rasp of the morats and rhythmic singing following him as he headed across the brush enclosure and out the entrance. But not before he saw the hurt and confusion that darkened her eyes. He feared he’d carry that image with him to his dying day.

  As Shiloh watched Jesse walk away, her emotions roiled within as crazily as they had that day he’d ridden from the ranch. More than anything, she wanted to run after him, grab his arm, and force him to turn around and talk to her. To tell her why he now seemed to hate her, and what she had done to cause that. To beg him to forgive and be her friend again.

  But pride and a refusal to make a scene before the very people she had come here to help stiffened her spine and quashed what was surely nothing more than a childish impulse. He had all but insulted her, she realized as the haze of pain slowly faded. He didn’t have the time or interest . . .

  Shiloh’s gaze narrowed and her hands clenched at her side. The nerve of him! The sheer, unmitigated arrogance! Well, she didn’t have the time or interest to spare on him, either.

  Around her, the scrape of the morats and rhythmic singing took on an almost irritating tone. She suddenly felt hemmed in, smothered. She had to get away.

  “I-I think I should leave,” she managed to stammer out, turning to Josie. “I’m sorry.”

  Understanding shone in the other woman’s eyes. “It’s all right. Would you like me to walk back with you?”

  “No.” Shiloh shook her head. “Stay and enjoy this. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  Josie took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Go on then. I’ll check with you later. If you feel up to it by then, I can show you around the Agency in more detail, and even take you to our little schoolhouse.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She managed a wan smile. “I’ll see you later.”

  With that, Shiloh turned and made her way through the crowd, sudden, unexpected tears filling her eyes. Angrily, she swiped them away. Barely here a day, and already she was crying. And about what? Because a man she used to know—and apparently no longer knew—had rejected her overtures of friendship?

  She was a fool, pure and simple. It had been almost nine years since they’d last seen each other, and who was to say what Jesse had gone through in that time? Could she really blame him for wanting to put that unpleasant time at the ranch behind him? Still, he could’ve been a tad more polite in refusing to renew old acquaintances.

  Shiloh sighed, glad to pass under the portal of the brush enclosure and head out into the open. It wasn’t the end of the world just because Jesse had briefly reentered her life, then just as quickly departed it again. She hadn’t come here, after all, in the hopes of finding him. She had come to be a teacher to the Ute children and to make a difference in their lives. Jesse or no, that hadn’t changed.

  With every step she took back to the Agency, Shiloh’s mood improved. Once before, she had been forced to put Jesse out of her heart and mind. She could—and would—do so again. This time, though, she at least had the comfort of knowing he lived and had found a new and hopefully happier life with the Utes.

  “Excuse me, Miss Wainwright.”

  Shiloh jerked around, trying to balance on one foot as she tugged off her snow-laden boot in the entry foyer of the boardinghouse. Still deeply immersed in her thoughts on the way back from the Bear Dance, she had failed to hear Nathan Meeker’s footsteps as he exited the dining room.

  After a second or two of hopping around while still attempting to remove her boot, Shiloh gave up the task temporarily and stood on both feet. “Yes, Mr. Meeker? Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I need to speak with you and my daughter.” He glanced around as if hoping Josie would appear at any moment. “Do you know where she might be?”

  “Likely still down at the Bear Dance. I just arrived back from there myself.”

  He frowned, his thick gray brows nearly joining in the middle. “That girl involves herself too frequently and familiarly with those Indians. And, contrary to what she may believe, they’re not as friendly or benign as they may appear. I hope you will take greater care and keep a proper distance around them, Miss Wainwright.”

  She didn’t know how to reply to his comments about Josie, so thought it best to address his request of her. “Since I’m to be the children’s teacher, I believe a professional demeanor—both with the children and their parents—is appropriate at all times.”

  As if digesting that bit of information, Meeker paused, then nodded his approval. “Good. Good. Perhaps some of that will rub off on my daughter. We try our best, Arvilla and I do, to instill proper Christian morals and attitudes in our children. Josie, however, has always been a bit unruly and strong-willed. Perhaps a young woman closer to her own age is just what she needs.”

  Shiloh managed a smile, all the while holding her opinions tightly reined in. “I’m sure Josie and I will both profit from our acquaintance.”

  “Yes. I’m sure you will.” He paused again. “Well, I’ve work to do, but as soon as my daughter returns, would you and she join me in the Agency office? I’ve a plan to discuss regarding how to win over the Ute parents, so they’ll finally allow their children to attend school.”

  Somehow, Shiloh doubted there would be much “discussion” on the plan, but wisely decided to forego expressing that observation. She felt a twinge of guilt at so swiftly taking Nathan Meeker’s measure, but she’d learned at an early age to trust her instincts. Instincts that generally proved very accurate.

  Still, he was the Indian agent and ultimately in charge of everything that went on at the Agency. Shiloh made a mental note to keep her opinions to herself. Well, at least for now anyway. And, hopefully, once she got school going, he’d stay pretty much out of the teaching side of things. After all, it was why he’d hired her.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Josie, just as soon as I see her, sir.”

  “I’m sure you will. Good day,
Miss Wainwright.” He grabbed his coat from a peg by the front door, donned it, and departed without another word.

  Shiloh watched him leave, then resumed the removal of her boots. Boots that now were free of the snow that had melted into puddles of water on the pine plank floors. She picked up her boots, carefully stepped around the water, and headed for the kitchen to retrieve a mop.

  Two hours later, just about the time Shiloh had finished unpacking everything, written a letter home, and decided on a nap, Josie arrived at her door. The other woman stood there out of breath, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold.

  “Oh, it was so much fun!” she said. “I wish you would’ve stayed.”

  “By the looks of you, maybe I should’ve.” She swung the door wider. “Come on in while I get my boots back on. Your father asked that we meet him in his office just as soon as you returned.”

  “Really?” Josie grimaced. “Well, I reckon he can’t mean to chide me for attending the Bear Dance if you’re there, so guess it’s about something else.”

  “He mentioned discussion of a plan to win over the Utes to allowing their children to attend school.”

  “Oh? That should be interesting.” Josie chuckled. “Considering I’ve tried everything short of kidnapping and outright bribery.”

  “You’ve been having that much trouble, have you?” Shiloh asked from her spot on the chair as she finished pulling on her boots.

  “After all these months, I’ve only managed to get one little boy to come to school—Chief Douglas’s son, Freddie.”

  “Only one child? Oh, my, then we really do have a problem.”

  As Shiloh followed Josie from her room and back down the stairs, her thoughts raced. It was all starting to fall into place now. She had always wondered why Nathan Meeker had seen the need to spend extra money for a professionally trained teacher, when his college-educated—and quite intelligent—daughter should’ve been sufficient for the task. It wasn’t as if the US government required that the Indians be given a high level of education, but rather just enough to change their outlook and old ways. Still, if there was a mandate placed on the White River Indian agent to produce results, and Meeker had hit a brick wall with stubborn parents . . .